Groom. Your Worship has six Coach-horses, (Cut and Long-Tail) two Runners, half a dozen Hunters, four breeding Mares, and two blind Stallions, besides Pads, Routs, and Dog-Horses.
Gent. Look you there, Sir, I scorn to tell a Lye. He that questions my Honour—he's a Son of a Whore. But to Business—Having heard, Sir, that you were come to this Town, I have taken the Pains to come hither too, tho' I had a great deal of Business upon my Hands, for I have appointed three Justices of the Peace to hunt with 'em this Morning——and be drunk with 'em in the Afternoon. But the main Chance must be look'd to—and that's this——I desire, Sir, you'll tell the King from me—I don't like these Taxes—in one Word, as well as in twenty—I don't like these Taxes.
Esop. Pray, Sir, how high may you be tax'd?
Gent. How high may I be tax'd, Sir! Why I may be tax'd, Sir—four Shillings in the Pound, Sir; one half I pay in Money—and t'other half I pay in Perjury, Sir: Hey, Joular, Joular, Joular. Haux, haux, haux, haux, haux. Hoo, hoo——Here's the best Hound-bitch in Europe——Oons is she. And I had rather kiss her than kiss my Wife——Rot me if I had not——But, Sir, I don't like these Taxes.
Esop. Why how wou'd you have the War carry'd on?
Gent. War carried on, Sir!—--Why, I had rather have no War carried on at all, Sir, than pay Taxes. I don't desire to be ruin'd, Sir.
Esop. Why you say, you have three thousand Pounds a Year.
Gent. And so I have, Sir——Lett-Acre!——Sir, this is my Steward. How much Land have I, Lett-Acre?
Lett-Acre. Your Worship has three thausand Paunds a Year, as good Lond as any's i'th' Caunty; and two thausand Paunds worth of Wood to cut dawne at your Worship's Pleasure, and put the Money in your Pocket.
Gent. Look you there, Sir, what have you to say to that?